Harley Quinn: A Life
by Jfan7154
Summary: A chronicle of Harley Quinn before the Joker. Note: DC owns the rights to all things Batman. Reviews and suggestions are always welcome.
1. Chapter 1

Harley Quinn: A Life

**Chapter 1**

Where am I? I look around only to discover that I can't see anything. It's dark and the only thing I'm sure of is that this is a place that I do not want to be. A terrible sense of wrong pervades me and I know that I need to find a way out of here fast. I try to take a step but I can't move. What is this place? A breeze ruffles my hair and carries with it a stench of decay and the din of despairing cries. Another sound begins to reach me and at first I can't make out what it is. I don't notice that I've stopped breathing until with a sharp intake of breath I realize what it is that I'm hearing. Footsteps. A trembling begins to overtake me and I can only listen in horror as whatever is approaching me stops. The room is getting hotter and my heartbeat is trying to strangle me by climbing into my throat. I'm not breathing again. Pain, hot and searing burns into my chest. My eyes fill with tears and they burn too. Whatever is behind me begins to inch forward and I swear I hear its laughter. Why can't I move? I'm choking now because my screams are trapped behind my heart. There they gather and there they rot. Paralyzed, burning, and choking I can only wait for the laughing monster behind me to strike. Heat, unnatural heat, begins to bear down upon me. I am going to die. Suddenly, with a horror that forces me to my knees I understand just how wrong I've been. The monster is still behind me but now I can feel its breath, oddly sweet, brush against my feverish skin. As it bends down I know my fate is to die alone and at the feet of whatever fiend stands above. I can no longer think. Where thought once lived there are only pain and fear. They were never laughs. They were screams.

I awake to see my apartment dimly lit by the rising sun. I'm shaking and the A/C does nothing to assuage. I want to believe I'm safe but the dream is fresh enough to make that seem like a lie. I know it was a dream but that doesn't stop me from staying in bed even as my alarm goes off. I hit the snooze button but going back to sleep is the last thing I want to do. I realize it's childish but I put my head under the covers and lie there waiting for the shaking to stop. If I stay in bed much longer I'll be late for work. I whisper to myself, "I am alive. I am safe. I am not in danger." Without giving myself a chance to think I'm up and out of bed heading toward the bathroom. Just to prove that I'm not afraid I make my trip in the dark refusing to turn on any lights. Even after hitting the dresser, I know it's worth it because by the time I get there I'm no longer shaking let alone scared. I stare at myself in the mirror or more accurately at the bags under my eyes. That dream took more out of me than I thought. I take stock of all the things on my counter. Toothbrush, comb, and other toiletries litter the space. It's these little normalcies that bring the dream to the waking world. Everything is back to normal and I can finally step back and look at the dream from a purely clinical standpoint. As I undress and hop into the shower my mind is in overdrive trying to dissect and decipher exactly how that dream came to be. I know that it's only my mind reworking certain memories and fitting them together. There is something at its core that will make it all logical. I'm trying to decide what elements would make up the manifest and latent dream content when I'm struck by a question that I can't answer. Why was it screaming and why couldn't I?

Traffic was light and I drive through Arkham's main gate in record time. That's a minor miracle considering I left 15 minutes late. As I step out of my car I can't help but gaze at the sheer size of the asylum. It's a formidable structure with massive gates and spires that seemed to stretch all the way to heaven's floor. I've been at Arkham for five months and I still haven't gotten over how dark it looks on the outside, or how bleak it is from within. I walk up the winding path to the front door and flash my I.D. to the camera. As I'm waiting I notice that my blouse is just a little too open. I remedy it immediately. I'm not here to send signals to anybody. With barely another minutes wait I'm walking through the door. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like. Walking into Arkham every morning is like heading into a war zone armed with only your mind and a pen for weapons. Hearing the jeers and cat calls from the inmates is bad enough but it's even worse when your only armor is the clothes on your back. I can feel their lustful eyes probing me, trying to find whatever lies underneath my fitted blouse but they never will. I swear I can feel their heat, feel them straining to get closer trying to touch me. Even though we're separated by glass and guards I walk faster annoyed at the irritating and somehow vulnerable click-clack of my heels on tile. I feel the familiar tightness in my chest that usually signals a panic attack but I'm less concerned about calming down than I am about getting somewhere where I can't feel them trying to feel me. I'm honestly thinking about making a run for it and almost do before I see the drab gray of my office. For once I'm glad to see the lack of color. I'm beginning to shake as I finally enter the undisturbed calm of my office. Knees shaking, hands trembling I slowly sink into a chair near the door and breathe out my distress. The day hasn't even started and I'm already rattled. "Get it together Harley," I tell myself. That dream must have affected me more than I thought. Slowly, I walk over to my desk. Forcing my hands to stop, I take a deep breath and begin to work.

The deeper I delve into someone's psyche the farther away I am from mine; and today that is exactly what I want. Black and white flash by gladly giving me the information that they hold. Glasses held in place by only the small curve of my nose I'm utterly absorbed and anyone walking in would know that this is one hard-working psychologist. I'm lulled into the calming cycle of repetition when suddenly there's a knock on my door. Getting up, albeit with reluctance, I go over and open the door only to find a smiling Joan Leland jingling her keys. I look over to the clock and realize it's time for lunch. "How'd you know I'd forget?" I ask Joan with a smirk. "Well," she replies, "you forgot yesterday and when I didn't see you come out of your office for three hours straight I figured you might do it again today. So as part of my campaign to get Harley out of her office I'm taking you to lunch". Thank God for great friends like Joan. Joan is more than a mentor to me, she's a friend and I know that lunch with her will be just the thing I need to forget work (and that dream) completely. We walk arm in arm out the door headed for a definite good time.

Walking into Arkham with Joan I feel better than I have in weeks. A day with Joan is always a good thing. I feel so good that I even let my hair down from its usual bun of professionalism. I don't notice the stares I'm getting from the guards but Joan does. I also don't see the look of concern in her eyes as the guards continue to stare. I'm just happy that I can finally put all that nonsense in the morning behind me. As we reach the corridor that holds my office I smile looking over at Joan to tell her thanks for lunch when I hear a gasp. Perplexed, I look turn to look at Joan because I know it was her. The look in her eyes wipes the rest of the smile off my face. I'm about to ask her what's wrong when I see it. Joan reaches out to hug me but I run past her and go inside my office. On the door for the whole world to see:

_Dr. Harleen Quinzel_

WHORE


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Tears, sharp and fresh force themselves from me. They burn making an odd compliment to the bile building in the back of my throat. I know that the writing is a lie but that doesn't stop the hurt. In fact, it amplifies it. At the door stands Joan still waiting to be let in.

I know I should but I can't make my legs cooperate and so I sit on the floor trying not to fall to pieces. Sadly, there was nothing to hold me together. With dwindling strength and will I crawled to a distant chair and placed my head upon it. Pressing my eyes to the sweet cool of steel was the only way to keep the pain from getting worse._ I am not a whore _but they didn't seem to know.

After all what was the note but some moron's way of expressing rejection? That note was just a physical manifestation of some imagined slight whose blame belonged to me. Rationalizing still didn't make the ache go away though. There didn't have to be a reason why someone would do this. The perpetrator probably didn't know themselves.

I wanted so badly to let Joan in but this was something even she wouldn't understand. She would come in and tell me that this wasn't my fault and in my mind I knew that she was right. However, my heart was in control it had a different opinion entirely. Already I could feel its relentless tirade upbraiding me about whatever actions had brought this trouble to my doorstep. _Wasn't it you Harleen, _it sneered_, who always wore those clikety-clack heels that distracted everyone so? Wasn't it you Harleen who let that top button go unnoticed for so long? And wasn't it you Harleen who let those coffee room catcalls continue even after you'd politely said no to offers of a date? Face it Harleen, you brought this on yourself._

Maybe my heart was right. Maybe it was all my fault. I saw the way they looked at me but I never thought it would bring something like this. It wasn't my fault God saw fit to bless my parents with the fabled blond-haired blue-eyed angel. How could I have been so blind? Worse, how could I have been so stupid? Of course that's what they thought of me! After all it was always the blonde who slept with the football team. It was always the blonde who got the best grades without ever seeming to try (even though I'd spent many a sleepless night studying till my eyes dried). It was always the blonde who was the school joyride. I found myself hating the sight of those errant strands that dared obscure my view. Why did it have to be me? Just as quickly as it had come, the injustice of it all (and the pity that came with it) faded and I realized I couldn't just sit in my office all day and cry.

With a resolve that would have broken the chair in two I stood and strode toward the door. Opening it revealed a startled Joan Leland with a look of worry so deep her eyes seemed two shades darker than they were making them two pools of motherly concern. "I'm fine," I say. Turning without another word I carefully study the word. That word which had seemed so final, so damning was really only marker and it easily smudged. Funny, when I first saw it, it had seemed etched into the wood. It was a deep unyielding imperfection in an otherwise flawless mahogany. Now it was only a powerless meaningless word and it smudged easily.

The rest of the day was a blur and if I did any work I couldn't remember it. Honestly, the energy it took to avoid the stares was almost more than what I used to assure people that I was "fine". Their concern was cloying to the point of asphyxiation and it was with a joyful heart that I counted down the minutes to release. Six o' clock signaled the end of my working day and with something akin to anticipation I made my way home. It was only when I locked my apartment door that I let myself go. All the rigors of professionalism faded away and I let the cool floor receive my tears of anguish and yet still they burned! "Screw concern," I said to no one in particular, "I'm fine." Pulling myself off the floor I made my way to the kitchen. With a bottle of red wine firmly in hand I walked with purpose into the living room. Tonight I'd do my talking with the bottle. It would only be hours later that I realized that tonight the bottle would let me down. Hours passed like minutes and minutes didn't matter but I could still feel each second pass. Time had slowed down but it wasn't nearly slow enough to stop the memories from crowding in. It's funny, no matter how much you try to drown your sorrows they always manage to swim their way back to the surface.

It was with a heavy heart and an even heavier head that I wobbled into my bedroom; hurling myself to the mattress. I don't know how long I laid there but it was long enough to see the shadows on the wall turn into the shadows of my past. Slipping into unconsciousness my last coherent thoughts were, "I guess it's true. The truth never dies it just waits until you're sleeping".

-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-

_It's the first day of the weekend and I'm just getting off the school bus. The smell of autumn perfumes the air leaving me feeling crisp and bright. The wondrous hues and tints of nature bring the world into sharp focus and even though I'm only in the second grade I feel alive. The sound of children at play reaches my ears and I run to join them. The freedom of being able to relax and have fun lifts me off the ground and I feel myself flying to be with them. It's a feeling that only lasts for a moment. The promise of social interaction galvanizes me in a way that I've never felt before but like I said it's a feeling that only lasts for a moment. The joy, the lift of childhood is snatched from me in the most brutal of ways. Before I can even begin to jump in the leaves a voice stops me dead in my tracks. _

"_Harleen come inside now!"_

_I hesitate but only long enough to get a little bit of fall inside me. It's all I can manage but it will have to be enough. Turning on legs of lead I trudge toward my home and the woman who fills the doorway like the most malevolent of specters. Careful to keep the disappointment out of my voice (and the hurt from my eyes) I answer in measured tones, "Coming mother"._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's note**__: Repeat listening's of Loudon Wainwright III's 4x10 helped me write this chapter. If you're of a mind to I suggest you do the same while you're reading. The subjects are different but I think the feeling is the same._

Chapter 3

Avoiding everyone's eyes is hard but it's even harder to ignore the giggles escaping from their lips. I know they're laughing at my mama and I'm tempted to go back and knock all their blocks off or at least yell but I don't. I don't because she's already inside and I can hear the ring of the phone as mama goes to answer it. _Like an out of body experience I can see my younger self standing in the doorway not wanting to come in. I want to scream at little Harleen to run but I know she won't hear me. It hurts to not be able to reach her and I can only watch as Harleen..._ I walk into the house.

Our house is smallish and bare. I'm young but I'm old enough to know that we're one of the poorest people on the block. I don't want to go in any farther but I know that if I don't I'll get yelled at so I walk in and close the door behind me. With the door closed the noise from outside stops and I'm left to listen to the somber sounds of my home. I can hear mama in the kitchen and I start to make my way over when I spot my favorite doll on the floor. Whatever I had planned on asking for goes right out the window, and I sit down to play with Rainbow Brite and her faithful Starlite.

I was so wrapped up in my playing that I didn't notice how dark it had gotten outside. I'm hungry and I figure that it has to be time for lunch. I look up and see how dark it is outside now. Shadows have taken over the den and I decide that dinner is now the priority. Mama's louder in the kitchen and I walk over but stop just short of going inside so I'm still partially hidden in shadows. My stomach starts to grumble but still I hesitate to enter. I don't know why but I just stand there and watch her.

I watch how mama slumps over the sink glass in hand. I watch the way she seems lost in some memory she keeps trying to drown. Suddenly I hear her moan and reach for the bottle with tears in her eyes, forgetting that her glass is already full. She shudders and I try to back away but she sees me in the dark. She shouts, "Harley!" That's how I know that mama won't tuck me in tonight and tell me she loves me. Tonight she's going to remember how much I look like daddy because that's what daddy used to call me before he died. I know that tonight mama won't be mama anymore and I watch as mommy stumbles forward and drops down until we're eye-to-eye.

"Get out of here Harley" she says pushing me toward my room. "Your Uncle John is coming over tonight and it's time for you to go to bed." Her breath is hot and smells like gin but I don't move. The hurt in mama's eyes is so deep that I feel like I'm the one who's drowning. Mama grabs my shoulders and says firmly, "Leave". I do as I'm told and go to my room but I don't shut the door all the way. Mama doesn't notice and twenty minutes later there's a knock at the front door.

From the crack in my door I can't tell who it is but I can hear mama say to be quiet. Every week there's a different "Uncle" but they always do the same thing. Today was no different; mama and John went into mama's room and closed the door. I didn't need to hear the sounds they made to know what they were doing but I heard. Only a baby wouldn't know and I hadn't been a baby for a long time. Then I heard something I hadn't heard since the night that daddy died; mama was screaming.

This was different. Something was wrong because mama never screamed like that. I crossed the short distance between our rooms in a flash and opened the door. Mama screamed louder as I opened the door and saw John straddling her. "Look at what you did you woke up the kid," said John looking over at me. "Harley," began my mama with pleading in her eyes, "go back to your room". I stood there petrified while John laughed and began to stand.

My mother clung to him with fire in her eyes. John looked down at her with contempt and something approaching distaste but didn't move any closer to me. "Your mom does this kind of stuff all the time. She likes it," John sneered. "Harley," my mama said this time begging, "Please go back to your room." As I back out of the room I see what made mama scream. In his hands John holds something that gleams cold and hard in the moonlight. In his hands John holds a knife.

I don't remember going back to my room and I don't remember John leaving. I do remember crawling into bed crying while trying my hardest to not be aware of anything going on outside my door. I don't know how much time passed but without warning my door began to creak open. It was my mama coming in to check on me. Softly she called my name but I said nothing. I didn't want to talk about what happened, I knew that was what she wanted, and I didn't want her to leave me but when she called again I still said nothing.

I didn't trust myself to speak and there was nothing for me to say. I never wanted to believe the whispers I overheard when people thought I couldn't hear them. Now I knew that they were true. Slowly everything I believed to be good in the world was washed away, and I was left to feel empty and gray. My mother was a whore; nothing better but everything worse. She left my room, shutting the door and I knew deep in my heart that things were different and could never be the same. _I remember not being able to look at my mother for a long time after…_

Gradually I awoke though the darkness remained unchanged. Sadness lay on my chest like a bag of wet sand making even the thought of rolling over unbearable. I couldn't stop the phrase _like mother like daughter_ from flitting across my slightly hung over mind unbidden. I didn't need to look at the clock to know that it read "time to get ready for work" in red. Getting out of bed was hard; picking myself up off the floor proved to itself harder. My shower served as a catharsis for the dream that was really a memory and the rest of my morning was accomplished by focusing on nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I was fully dressed with twenty minutes to spare. I spent those twenty minutes sitting on my couch and staring at the door contemplating. There wasn't any rule that said that I had to go to work today. After yesterday's hell no one would even blame me if I didn't show. I owed no one but myself and lately I'd been getting the short end of that stick. Why should I go to work anyway? Why would anyone continue to go someplace where respect and work were given in such unequal measures?

Going back meant a return to the same thing expecting something different. Last time I checked that was one of the many definitions of insanity and I wasn't insane. Who would even notice I wasn't there except Joan and whatever guards had their eye on me? _Joan._ Joan would notice and Joan would care. When I started at Arkham I didn't have much and when the work started coming well... Joan was the only real friend I had. I realized staying at home would only serve in making me feel worse so I left for work.

Traffic was kind again and I arrived ahead of schedule. Call me romantic but I do believe in destiny. I just never thought mine would involve getting to work on time. The early morning sky was painted in hues of gray and blue making Arkham seem more like a work of art than an asylum. It was both beautiful and breathtaking leading me to wonder why I'd never noticed it before. I don't know how long I stood in the parking lot spellbound but it was long enough to realize that Arkham is at its most peaceful in the morning.

My workload consisted of two patients and the first session didn't start until noon. That left me with the morning to sit in my office, prepare, and relax. Or it would have been had I not received a surprise, if not wholly unexpected, visitor. Within minutes of settling in a knock sounded on my office door and only one person would want to talk this early. "Harleen," Joan began, "may we talk?" I really just wanted to put the events of yesterday behind me but if Joan wanted to talk then I would listen.

"Sure Joan. Have a seat."

"Thank you Harleen. I trust you're having a pleasant morning."

"Well the ride over wasn't half bad."

Joan laughed but I could tell that everything wasn't kosher. Her mouth smiled but her eyes didn't and that was cause for alarm. Joan never tried to hide anything from me before so why was she trying to now?

"Joan what's wrong?"

As quickly as it started, the laughter stopped and Joan regarded me with unreadable eyes. I tensed expecting the worst and wondering what could possibly be this distressing.

"Jeremiah wants to see you."

_Jeremiah as in Jeremiah Arkham?_ _What does he want? _

"He's never asked for me before."

"Yes well there is a first time for everything Harleen."

"Do you have any earthly idea as to why he wants to see me?"

"You should probably ask him yourself."

"Joan..."

"Jeremiah is waiting Harleen."

Joan left and that's when the worrying set in. What in the world could Arkham possibly want with me? Word about yesterday couldn't have spread that fast and even if it did I wasn't to blame. During the five minute walk from my office to his I reviewed everything I'd done since coming to work at the asylum. Nothing stood out as anything warranting a reprimand let alone a meeting in Jeremiah's office so what could it be? As I approached his door I was no wiser than when I left my office so I went in appropriately clueless.

As it turns out I needn't have worried. When I walked into his office Jeremiah was all smiles. He must have noticed my trepidation because he immediately offered me a seat. Truthfully it was all a bit surreal.

"Dr. Quinzel do you know why I called you into my office?"

"Honestly Dr. Arkham I have no idea."

"Well Dr. Quinzel I've been watching you for some time now and I've noticed something."

_Why couldn't he just get to the point? _

"What is that something Dr. Arkham?"

"I will not lie to you Dr. Quinzel. Those who are admitted to Arkham are very rarely released. However your patients seem to be experiencing remarkable turnarounds."

"You called me in here to congratulate me?"

"Only partially. Until now you've been treating some of our less 'famous' patients."

The gravity of what he was explaining to me took some time to sink in. I didn't know what to say anyway. For Arkham asylum famous patients equaled rogues. It wasn't the prestige that stunned me. It was the fact that he thought I was capable of handling them.

"Dr. Quinzel?"

Startled I answered, "Yes".

"I asked if you were willing to accept the offer. Consider it a type of promotion, one that comes complete with a pay raise."

The raise was just a cover up for the fact that most of the doctors who treated rogues ended up maimed but maybe I would be different. In the end it wasn't a matter of intrigue but of impact. Maybe I could provide the care they needed that would keep them off the streets for good. Idealistic yes but not impossible.

"I accept."

"Splendid! You'll receive your new patient's file tomorrow and you'll be continuing your current sessions."

"Thank you for this opportunity Dr. Arkham."

"It really wasn't a difficult decision. You came highly recommended."

After exchanging parting pleasantries I left. Cloud nine had nothing on how I was feeling at that moment. The reason I accepted was because I knew that if I succeeded the world would be a better and safer place. That was my job and I intended to do it well. As for who recommended me there was never any doubt. That's why the first place I went after the meeting was Joan's office. She looked up from her work when I entered but she didn't smile. Something was still wrong.

"Joan," I began, "you knew why he wanted me didn't you?"

"Harleen sit down."

"I thought you'd be happy for me."

"Harleen please sit."

I did but I still wasn't happy with Joan's reaction.

"Joan, tell me what's wrong."

"I'm worried about what might happen to you Harleen."

"There's no need to be. I am perfectly capable of handling myself."

"I don't doubt that. I'm worried because that might not be enough."

"Then why did you recommend me?"

"When Arkham asked if you were a competent doctor I couldn't lie. You are talented Harleen but that doesn't mean you're impervious."

"What are you talking about Joan?"

"I'm talking about what might happen if a rogue decides you'd be better dead!"

_Oh._

"Joan, I understood the risks involved when I accepted his offer. I know what might happen to me but if I succeed then the people of Gotham can sleep freely instead of wondering if tonight's their last."

She must have seen the look on my face because she didn't push it. I knew she cared about me but this was just something that I had to do. What kind of doctor would I be if I didn't do all I could to rehabilitate Gotham's insane. I owed it to the people of Gotham and myself to try. I could tell from the look in Joan's eyes that she understood even if she didn't like it.

"Alright Harleen. Just understand that if you ever need anything I'm always here."

"I know Joan."

I had the sudden urge to give the older woman a hug so I did. I wanted Joan to know just how much her friendship meant to me but words wouldn't have sufficed. As it turns out the hug was enough. As I pulled away I noticed that her wastebasket was filled with tissues. I don't think I could love Joan any more than I did at that moment and that's probably the reason I left as quickly as I did. I didn't think it would help anything for her to see me cry. Joan was always so good to me. She was the mother I wish I had.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's Note: **__Apologies for the late chapter. Family and school helped with its tardiness. Thanks to keywee for her review. Also thanks to finalsacrifice, keywee, GraceOfTheFlower, and thesneggster for putting this story in their favorites/on story alert. Finally most special thanks to my buddy Adriana for her support (just for that you get TWO pairs of socks)!_

Chapter 5

It feels like I'm made of tears but that can't be right. If I was then all the crying I've been doing wouldn't leave me feeling so empty. Can I think of nothing else? I don't know why or from where these thoughts of my mother keep popping up but they need to stop. As if it wasn't bad enough that I left Joan's office crying I fumbled for the knob to my own for five minutes because I couldn't see through the tears. It seems like things are only getting worse. It's fitting I guess because I can't imagine them getting any better.

The rest of my day was a ten hour shift with overlapping tones of gray and insane. It would almost be funny if it wasn't so tiring. Towards the end of things a blur developed that made everything less clear but more bearable. Considering my morning it was more of a blessing than a hindrance. When it was time for me to go home for the night I walked out of the asylum's door with lead feet and an almost matching mind. It wasn't until I reached my car that I realized that I'd get my new case file tomorrow whether I was ready or not.

I was unlocking my front door when I finally acknowledged something that had been nagging at the back of mind ever since I got into my office. The reason the rest of my day was a blur of gray was because everything I thought so black and white was no longer that clear. I guess mom ruined that too. It's no use pretending that she's not that malevolent specter haunting my dreams. If it wasn't for work tomorrow I wouldn't go to sleep. If a tree falls in the woods does it make a sound? If you have a crazy thought in the dark do you let it go?

**The answer to both is yes. **

I found my bed in the dark because I didn't want to turn on any lights. I got in with all my clothes on because I didn't want to change. I didn't cry because I didn't want to let the hurt go. The longer I held it in the angrier I could get. Even so, the anger didn't last long but while it did I could finally allow myself feel something akin to hate for the woman who did nothing. The most abuse my mother ever dealt came not in the form of fists to my body but silence starving my fragile heart.

The dark that once held my denial and comfort so equally now began to press in on me. I could feel its hunger waiting to devour me and its lust wanting to take me whole. My window must have been open because silver moonlight began to spill into my room dispelling some of the darkness. I was glad until the shadows it cast began to take on the shadows of my past. I now knew that hoping sleep would bring anything but pain was both childish and futile. I left the world of the waking to enter the valley of the damned.

_This time when I went back I didn't need the wine. My heart ache was enough._

It was summer time but I wasn't outside. I was in my room staring at my closed door willing it to open and bring my mother with it. The last time she came into my room was the day after John...she never wears shorts anymore. She came into my room and found me pretending to sleep. She didn't give me a hug she just stood there in my doorway looking, maybe longing, to undo what had been done. She didn't say anything and after a while she left the room. She closed the door and left me the dark staring and wishing for nothing.

Now here I was a budding blossom in the summertime blooming for no one; waiting for words that would never come. I thought, and not for the first time, that she doesn't care about me anymore. This thought brings with it no tears. That's not to say I'm not hurt I'm just not crying. My tears don't matter anymore and maybe they never did. I'm staring at my door waiting because if she cares about me at all she'll open my door but she doesn't. I should have known better. How can she open my door when she hasn't opened hers in three days?

It's crazy to keep waiting for something that will never come and I'm tired of waiting. I leave my room grabbing a book and walk across the den to the front door. I pause but I don't look back and within seconds I'm out the door and on my way to the library. If she notices I'm gone well then good. She should be worried and it would serve her right. These thoughts don't make me feel better. In fact they make me feel worse. Worse because I know she won't notice. I look around and see the colors of summer bright, bold and marred.

My eyes take note of the beauty which surrounds me but that beauty reaches no further. The sun casts down its rays making the glass on the sidewalk glitter like a sea of broken mirrors. It's a sea which reflects nothing but the emptiness of the sky. I don't know when I decided to go to the park instead of the library but by the time I noticed I was already there. I was the only one and that suited me just fine. I wanted to be alone and the last thing I needed was for someone to see me and try to talk.

The park used to have a set of swings, a slide, and jungle gym. Time took everything but the gym leaving it to rust and the imaginations of those who still used it. I head for the jungle gym book in hand already working a way to the center. The gym is big dome in the middle of the park made of intersecting bars that would leave MC Escher at a loss. To get inside you had to be part contortionist part Gumby. I'd been getting into the jungle gym for years and it got easier every time. It only took five minutes for me to reach the center.

It was on my way home that the streetlights buzzed on bathing everything in orange. It was under the streetlights that I felt that first stab of pain somewhere below my stomach. It was because of the pain that I walked faster. I was down the street when I felt something begin to trickle down my legs. Something was horribly wrong and it was because of this that I ran, despite the pain, home. I burst inside and found my mother looking semi-sober in the kitchen. She didn't turn around when I came in but asked where I'd been.

When I didn't answer she turned around and her eyes went from their usual sky blue to ice. "What did you do," she screamed at me. She pointed and I followed her finger down and saw that my crotch was stained a dark red. _Blood. _I almost passed out from the shock. I couldn't even begin to figure out how blood could have got down there let alone an answer to her question. As it turns out I didn't have to. I looked up just in time to catch her palm as it came down and connected with my cheek.

_That was the first time she hit me. _

I didn't realize I was awake until my room began to lighten. The shadows the moon made shortened until they were replaced with the shadows of the sun. My alarm began to sound so I turned it off. The all-too familiar pain began just below my stomach. I took a shower then ate breakfast. After I was dressed I grabbed my keys and walked out the door. I walked to my car and once inside cranked the engine. I backed out and began my daily commute to Arkham. The subterfuge would have been complete had I not started my cycle that morning.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note: **__So another chapter is late again. It's been about two weeks since my last update and I'm sorry about. There's not much In the way of explanation for it though so here it is in its entire tardy splendor. _

Chapter 6

I parked my car and looked upon the asylum; gothic architecture placed in perpetual war with the blue sky above. Today it looked as if the asylum was winning. I'd be a liar if I said I remember being buzzed in and allowed inside the asylum. I'd also be lying if I said I remember all the various hellos and pleasantries I engaged in as I walked toward my office. The truth is I don't recall anything that might have happened after the front door because that's not what I was focused on. I was focused on what l had to look forward to for the day.

I found out a long time ago that the best thing to do when you don't want to think is to work. My first session wasn't until one-fifteen and since it was only eight-thirty I had plenty of time to try and not think about the emotional storm I was still weathering through. I had the same two options that everyone gets sooner or later: either figure out whatever the hell was going on with me or work. I took the road most traveled. I worked hard, typing away on my keyboard till I couldn't even hear my own breathing over the pop of keys. Forget not thinking I was aiming for comatose.

Line after line and page after page I typed. I typed until my fingers were the ones popping and then still kept going. "Damn the carpal tunnel, full speed ahead!" lodged in my mind flashing neon-red. This was a pleasant surprise considering that I thought my sense of humor, while maybe not dead, had been severely crippled during medical school. Suddenly the notes I had been transcribing didn't seem quite so necessary or important anymore and I was bone tired. I looked up to the analog clock on the wall which read twelve o' clock in bold black characters. I decided a catnap would do more good than a sandwich.

I must have been dozing off because I thought that I heard the soft squeak that my door makes. As full consciousness returned I realized two things almost at once. First, I needed way more sleep than whatever I was currently getting and second that someone was coming into my office. Hoping I didn't look as crappy as I felt I settled myself and waited for my surprise visitor to enter. It might have been the lack of REM sleep or the strain of keeping my eyes from sliding shut again but when Dr. Arkham entered I couldn't even muster enough energy to be properly surprised.

I was beginning to think of the silent moments in my life as 'Harley time' and I took them when and where I could get them. Dr. Arkham's unexpected drop-in effectively ruined 'Harley time'. I couldn't just launch into a diatribe about walking into offices unannounced even if that's exactly what I wanted to do. I guess sleep would just have to wait for night to fall again. I calmed down after I noticed what he held under his arm; the unmistakable brown and bulk of a case file. My eyes traveled to meet his and he nodded and gestured out the door. It should go without saying that I didn't even hesitate.

Upon seeing me stand he smiled and promptly walked out of the room; assuming that I would follow. I finished locking my door just in time to see him turn the corner still not looking back. Either he didn't notice I wasn't at his side (which was highly unlikely) or he didn't care that I had to run past everyone in the hall to catch up. I decided it was the latter when I rounded the corner to find a not quite smiling Arkham looking at me with a look which, while not amusement, was definitely in the family. "Are you ready to continue Dr. Quinzel," the tone of his voice approaching cosmic levels of smugness.

We made our way to the faculty cafeteria. I suggested that we take the table near the window and Arkham said nothing choosing instead to ignore me completely and sit a table to the left of my suggestion. I never realized he could be such an ass. Yesterday he had been all smiles and now…well I couldn't tell if he was being an arrogant jerk on purpose but it was beginning to not matter. I realized that this train of thought wasn't exactly conducive to a pleasant meeting so adopting my own smile I tuned in to Arkham as he began to speak.

"Well Dr. Quinzel," he began, "as you know I have here your new patient's case file. Now I know that you've only been here for a short time but as I've said you've proven yourself to be a promising addition to the asylum."

He looked at me smiling and I realized with a start that he was expecting me to thank him for the compliment.

"Thank you Dr. Arkham."

Now the smile was decidedly more self-satisfied. I didn't like the way this was headed.

"As you know Dr. Quinzel Arkham is home to some of Gotham's more," here he paused, "flamboyant criminals."

"You mean the rogues?"

Did that smile falter? Harleen-1 Jeremiah-0.

"Yes Harleen, the rogues."

I thought about addressing the use of my first name but decided that no one got anywhere rattling the tiger's cage. Actually strike that. Those who did were usually eaten. Maybe I should have been more focused on his behavior or the odd way his eyes gleamed but I didn't. Instead I let my attention shift as he pushed the case file toward me and let me take it. The paper was coarse and the first touch sent a jolt through my fingertips. It was like touching lightning only without the flash or scent of burning flesh. In short it was electrifying.

"Harleen I must warn you that these patients are high-security for a reason. They have a history of attacking their doctors. Do you remember what happened to Dr. Manta?"

How could I forget? Dr. Manta was an Indian doctor who was brought in to help analyze Victor Zsasz. Victor took one look at him and proclaimed that he had a "place" that was just perfect for the doctor. Dr. Manta had a habit of walking around the examination room during their sessions. It was during this walk that Manta made the mistake of getting a little too close to Zsasz. The orderlies made it into the room just before Zsasz really got started. Dr. Manta left the examination room on a stretcher short one ear but still alive.

"Yes I remember. I won't make the mistakes that he did."

"I know you won't Harleen. I have the utmost faith in you."

There was that expectant stare again. Instead of my earlier acquiescence I changed the subject.

"When will I start seeing my new patient?"

Unperturbed he answered, "You'll start Friday. In the meantime you'll continue with your notes. You'll also be reduced to just one other patient along with your new case. I want you to take the rest of the day off to go home and review."

I had two days until my first meeting with my new patient. I did not intend to go in unprepared.

We both rose from our seats and exchanged goodbyes. Leaving the cafeteria I forced myself to walk as calmly but as quickly as I could. I was excited but there was a time and a place for everything. I could do all the tucks, flips, and backhand springs I wanted as soon as I got home. I decided to wait until then to open the file. It might have been childish but it was feeling too much like Christmas. Don't get me wrong here. Hanukah has its perks but nothing beats Christmas. I wanted to get home and open it when I was all settled in with a fresh notebook by my side. I was feeling positively fantastic.

The part of me that was rational had taken a back seat to the near sense of euphoria at being moved up in the world. If I would have stepped back I might have remembered the odd gleam in Dr. Arkham's eyes or the fact that my door only squeaked softly when someone was leaving. If I would have stepped back but I was already home. Now that I was here I wanted to stretch the anticipation out so I neatly put away all the things I carry to work then set about making myself self some sleepy time. When all of that was prepared I sat at my desk and slowly opened the file.

ARKHAM ASYLUM

CASE FILES PATIENT NUMBER# 0287564

Continuing past I let my eyes track across the page until they found the name and stuck there. In capital letters it read:

NAME: PAMELA L. ISLEY

My new patient was Poison Ivy.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_Poison Ivy._

My first thought was that I hadn't been expecting this. My second was that I should have guessed that something like this would happen. By my third thought I realized that it was horribly obvious. Of course they would give Poison Ivy to me. Besides Joan and myself there were only four other female psychologists in the whole asylum and of those six only two weren't angling for early retirement. Add that to the fact that Joan had her hands full with other patients and I became the only option.

In all honesty though, I really hadn't been expecting this. It was one thing to be given the case file but now that I had it what was I going to do with it? The only logical answer was to review like mad but I had to settle something first. Before I started I had to step back and truly ask myself, did I really want to do this? In Joan's office I had acted tough more for her sake than mine, but now that I was home I could admit the truth. I was scared. I had every right to be.

I'd been living in Gotham for longer than I cared to remember and as far as rogues went Poison Ivy was at the top of the list. She was like a homicidal Robin Hood only instead of committing crimes to help those in need killed whoever threatened nature. Ok, so the only thing she had in common with Robin Hood was the wanton violence and green. "So much for analogies," I thought, sighing as I realized I couldn't put it off anymore. Poison Ivy was my patient and I had two days to get ready. It was time to get started.

As I pulled its bulk into my lap I couldn't help but pause and think about how I'd come to get her case. Arkham had made it seem as if I had been hand-picked which wasn't exactly the truth. I'd already figured out I was a last resort but now I recognized that this was less an honor and more a babysitting job. He didn't expect me to make any progress! I slapped my forehead as I remembered all the stories other doctors told me about Poison Ivy. She never said a word.

I could be pissed at Jerry's sly manipulation because I really did want this case. I didn't doubt anymore that he was a bastard but he had given me a chance. Why I was chosen didn't matter as much as what I could do now that I'd been given the opportunity. A rehabilitated Poison Ivy might mean a rehabilitated Scarecrow or Two-face or even a rehabilitated... hell maybe one day Gotham would get so safe that even Batman would be out of a job. I figured that would happen as soon as hell froze over but maybe I could help alter the weather.

It was obvious to me now that the only reason Jerry had given me Ivy's case was so I could act as her babysitter. I wanted to find something funny or ironic about this thought to head off my mounting anger but there was nothing and I was really too pissed to keep trying. I mean who the hell did Arkham think he was? I turned my thoughts to the day I was summoned to his office and really focused on his demeanor. He had to have known that Ivy had been uncooperative with all her other doctors and yet he had made it seem like a promotion of sorts.

What game was Jeremiah playing at? Why would he give me Poison Ivy if he didn't expect me to get somewhere? Not for the first time I found myself wondering exactly what he thought of me only now it was accompanied by my smoldering ire instead of the usual cloud of absent-minded wondering. Until I learned the name of the game I would just have to play by my own rules. Lucky for me, it was a tried-and-true approach. I rested my hands on top of the coarse brown of the file and took a deep breath.

I was sick of people judging me before they even got to know me or assuming that they already did. Again I found myself hating everything that greeted the eyes of all who looked at me. Again hating what brought on the endless come-ons and stupid pick-up lines. I knew who I was. With the case of Poison Ivy I would be able to make Arkham and everyone like him, know it too and never forget. The time for contemplation and hesitation was over. I opened the file and began to read.

It was while reading her basic information that I realized she wasn't short. That's not to say that she was remarkably tall just that she wasn't short. I had only ever seen her from a distance so it was a surprise. It wasn't important but it was still something that I hadn't thought about and it made me wonder what else I might have assumed. I decided that if I was going to make any progress that I would have to go in a blank slate or risk closing the door before it ever opened. I needed to figure out how to reach her and condescension wouldn't cut it.

I flipped the page and could only stare because I had not expected this. They were color photos and that made all the difference in the world. They were a series of mug shots and she was beautiful. The woman who had committed arson, theft, and murder with pride was staring me right in the eyes. Monsters didn't and couldn't look how Poison Ivy did. Hair too red to be ignored framed a face both exotic and intoxicating. Eyes and skin glowed green, lit from within by an inner flame. Her whole being spit in the face of logic and laughed. How?

To say the pictures gave me pause would be an understatement. Eventually I turned the page to find it filled with clippings of Ivy's crimes and they went on...and on...and on. It was official; Poison Ivy was the hardest working woman in crime. I knew I was being facetious but the list was unsettling. Nature was at her beck and call and she used it to kill anyone who posed a threat to it. That was common knowledge. She viewed her murders not as a necessary evil but as a just punishment. I knew better than to think that she was remorseful in the slightest. Ivy wasn't insane because she killed; she was insane because she wasn't sorry.

At this point I had been reading for close to two hours and it was another ten minutes before I realized something that could be just what I needed to connect with Ivy. The only thing she cared about was nature. It was her life and why should she value ours when we didn't value hers? This revelation was like lightning and it galvanized me. I began to think back through all the information yielded to me by the articles and recognized that something was far more important. Poison Ivy was the poster child for misandry.

She made no effort to hide her (often times literal) venom towards the bearers of the Y chromosome. Her hatred for all things male was no secret but when it came to the reason why no one had a clue. Gotham's rogues possessed some of the most straightforward motivation I'd ever encountered. Everything they did was for a reason no matter how insane or unreasonable. So why wouldn't she tell the world what men had done to her that was the obvious reason for her hate? The answer would be the key to understanding Poison Ivy and once I understood I could help.

-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-

I looked up when it got too dark to read and stared at the clock in mild bewilderment. According to the black and red digital it was six in the evening. That would mean that I'd been reading for at least five hours without a break. It was almost like being back in med school how quickly I lost track of time. The file gradually changed from article clippings to her previous doctor's notes. Since she refused to speak during sessions it was almost all speculation. I recognized the signs of mental fatigue but I didn't want to stop so I didn't stop.

I continued to read theory after theory and question after question. The only thing they did was reinforce what I already believed would be the way reach Poison Ivy. They ranged from the fantastical to the ridiculous and ran an intellectual gamut which dead-ended. I looked to the clock again and decided that midnight was as good a time as any to stop. I could always start again tomorrow and besides that I was very tired. I went into my bedroom and really looked at it. It was cold and temperature had nothing to do with it. After getting into my sleepwear I turned off the lights and got into bed. Sleep came with no incident. The morning passed by the same way.

-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-

My day was uneventful which while a surprise wasn't unpleasant. After getting inside I put my things away and got comfortable with the file again. I reviewed and worked on my game plan for tomorrow. Tomorrow would be my first session with Poison Ivy. If I was successful it would kill two birds with one stone. Ivy would begin the road to recovery and everyone would know without a shadow of a doubt that I was more than smooth curves and golden hair. Two birds with one stone, one city saved and one doctor respected.

Time kept going and I kept studying gaining more insight but eventually things began to feel rote and I decided to call it a night. I looked out the window at the sun shining on the street. No children played and the only sounds heard made you glad you weren't a part of them. Arkham didn't pay much and when you didn't take bribes you tended to stay poor. Maybe in time I could afford someplace better. A home that would be mine; with a white picket fence, green grass, and filled with the sounds of laughter. My mind was starting to wander.

I needed to relax. Better yet I needed to go to sleep. Anticipation should have had me wired with energy but instead I felt drained and my bed was the only thing I really wanted. That and maybe some soup but I was more tired than hungry. I went to bed without dinner and when I awoke in the morning I was none the worse for wear. I had bigger problems than a missed meal. Today of all days my hair decided to rebel. It snagged and at one point I seriously considered just leaving it as it was.

Somehow bedhead didn't seem workplace appropriate. In the end I just decided to put it in a loose bun and my hair seemed to agree because it settled down soon after. As ready as I would ever be I left home and began my commute to the asylum. Twenty minutes later I arrived at Arkham and thirty minutes after that Joan entered my office. I heard a polite knock and looked up just in time to see her enter. I gestured absentmindedly to a chair across from me and she sat.

I continued to work but when she didn't say anything for five minutes curiosity got the best of me and I looked up to find her calmly appraising me.

"Joan what's wrong?"

There was silence but when she spoke her voice was filled with pride.

"Nothing's wrong Harleen. I've been watching you work that's all."

My face must have betrayed my surprise because she began to explain.

"I came in here to see how you were. What I found was a doctor who has never looked more confident and ready."

"Joan," I began.

"Let me finish Harley. I see a doctor who has never looked more prepared. I made it no secret to you that I was worried. I see that I have nothing to worry about. I'm going to leave now but I want you to know that you have my support and that I believe that you can do this."

"Thank you."

It was all I squeak out under the pressure of emotion her words caused. She smiled a smile worthy of Madonna and walked around the desk to where I was. We embraced and I felt a weight I didn't know was there lift. If Joan thought I was ready then there really was no room for doubt. She left and I was alone with my thoughts and notes. It was an hour until I had to go and meet Ivy. I spent it wisely. When the time came I walked with poise and purpose and as the interview room came into view I took in a calming breath.

I nodded to the two muscled female orderlies and with no hesitation pushed down the handle and walked inside to meet my patient. When I walked in her eyes widened slightly but whether from surprise or something else I couldn't tell. Whatever it was didn't last long and before I had even sat down her defenses were up. I knew because mine were the same. Poison Ivy and I weren't the same woman but we were both women. There was an inherent bond present between members of the same sex.

I would exploit it if I had to but for now simple conversation would have to do. I decided to begin as civilly as I knew how.

"Hello Ivy, my name is Dr. Quinzel."

"Hello."

I was surprised that she spoke to me at all considering her records with doctors. Her voice was low, almost sultry, and she looked me dead in the eyes. That might have been a bad choice of words but oddly enough I didn't feel threatened by her. What I felt instead was a probing curiosity and the feeling was mutual. The mug shots couldn't compare to the real thing. Now that I was in the room with her I was affected by something the pictures couldn't convey. She had a scent. It was wild like the jungle and just as strong.

I took all this in while she continued to stare, probably sizing me up. I broke the silence with a question.

"What is your favorite memory?"

The look of barely visible surprise was back and this time it lasted longer. She smirked and said nothing. _"Let the silent treatment begin"_ I thought.

Who was she? She was fresh, too fresh to be working in Arkham. I hadn't seen her before but considering how often I was let out of my cell that wasn't an issue. I decided that she couldn't have been working here long. When she spoke her voice was high but not girlish and before I realized what was happening I had already replied. I had given up ground before the battle even started! Whoever she was she wouldn't win that easily. She wouldn't win at all. She would leave like all the rest and I would make sure of it.

Still, she was so young and she was speaking again. What was my favorite memory? I had planned on escaping next week but now I couldn't; not before I learned who she was. How could I leave when she was so...pure? Yes, that was the best word for her. She had somehow managed to remain untouched by the poison of Gotham or the filth of this prison. She was the closest I had been to nature in months. Nothing grows in Gotham and yet somehow Arkham asylum had managed to nurture a flower.

Dr. Quinzel was most definitely interesting but she wouldn't win.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

She wasn't answering me and my hope began to dim. Her face remained stoic but in her eyes there was a look that I couldn't place. Whatever notions I'd been entertaining about this being easy were effectively wiped out. On the bright side at least I was learning something. Lesson one: Poison Ivy doesn't make anything easy. Time was moving forward but our session wasn't and I knew I had to break the silence or risk coming out empty-handed. This session would set a precedent for the ones to come so it had to be a good one.

I would worry about great later. There was no use beating a dead horse and since she wasn't answering to the memory question I figured a change of pace was in order.

"I'm going to show you some pictures now. I'd like you to tell me what you see."

I reached into the folder I'd brought in with me and pulled out a sheaf of pictures. I looked up to find a still smirking Ivy only this time her eyes held another look, this one closer to sadness. What could she possibly be thinking that would warrant sadness? Hopefully with these pictures I would be one step closer to finding out. For Poison Ivy traditional means would be less than beneficial. I had already decided on this yesterday and so it was without hesitation that I began phase one.

"When I hold up a picture I'd like you to explain to me what it is that you see."

I picked up a picture with the white side facing Ivy. Hopefully this would work.

"Picture one," I said and flipped it over.

Her eyes widened and betrayed her surprise.

**&x&**

** Everything about this place is cold and lifeless. There is no color, no warmth, and no chance in hell that I'll sit here and withstand it all. My smirk grows wider but I know that I've been here too long. I've spent too much time away from earth and I need to feel it again. I'm tired but any sign of weakness is as good as a death sentence and I learned early on that you can never be vulnerable. I need to be outside and when I escape I will be. The silence grows between us for a long time and she is the first to break it.**

**I hadn't been expecting the disappointment that came when she told me what she wanted me to do. I was beginning to think that she would be different from all the other doctors. Maybe outside of Arkham's walls she was but inside she was proving to be just like the rest despite her vibrancy. Within this place she was just one drone out of thousands. And to think that I had been entertaining something like hope that she would be better. **

** I watch as she reaches into a folder and grabs a bundle of photographs. She picks one out and holds it before me. I can only see the glossy white underside and the glare the phosphorescentes cast upon it. She begins to explain further but I've heard it all before so I'm only half listening when she turns the picture around. Before I can stop myself I'm reaching toward it; yearning for what it depicts. In her hands she grips a photo of a hanging plant whose white-blue petals curve up towards the sky.**

&x&

"Strongylodon macrobotrys," she whispers and reaches for the picture. I let her take it and watch as she begins to gently stroke its surface. I watch as she loses herself in the picture of the jade vine that I had found for her. I had decided that I would give her what she loved. She began to whisper softly to herself and continued to stroke the photo and any doctor worth their salt would have been writing up a storm. Instictually I knew that any note taking would be a bad idea.

I waited for her to finish and when she raised her head to look at me I was shocked by what I saw. Her eyes had glazed over and the perpetual smirk that had graced her mouth was gone. In its place was a hard line and her tears threatened to overspill as she stared at me. These were just pictures. Why was she reacting so strongly to pictures? We continued to gaze at each other over the unifrom gray of the table and we didn't speak. Looking past the drops of saltwater I could see, almost feel, the unasked question of why?

Instead of answering I told her that I had more pictures if she wanted to see them. After a quick eternity she nodded and one by one we went through the photos. I would hold one up and she would tell me the latin name. It may not have seemed like much but I knew that this was huge. My philosophy going into the session was this, that Poison Ivy was here for therapy so why shouldn't it be therapeutic. Because I couldn't give her actual flowers I gave her the next best thing. From the way she cradled them I knew that I was right.

However, none of this answered the question of why the pictures were causing such an immediate and intense change of attitude. Ivy had her attention fixed on the flowers in front of her and I took the oppurtunity to observe her closely. When I entered the room it had been my first time seeing her in person and I had been damn near awestruck. I hadn't seen what was right in front of me. Everything about her was faded and she stared at those pictures like they were life itself. There was only one thing or rather the lack thereof which could cause this.

"When was the last time you went outside?"

She didn't move but I knew that she heard me.

"When was the last time you felt the sun?"

This got the reaction I was hoping for. Slowly her eyes met mine.

"It's been three months."

We both knew that that was too long.

Before I could say anything else a knock sounded on the door signaling the end of our session. I had ten seconds to make her understand that I would do everything in my power to help her. I could only think of one thing but it would have to be enough. I stood in the doorway and let my eyes travel, taking her in. Her eyes, so fierce when we met, were now filled with despair. I told her that she could keep the pictures and that I would talk to Arkham about letting her outside. The orderlies came into the room and I turned to leave when she asked,

"What do you want from me?"

I turned back and spoke the truth.

"Nothing".

I watched as she was led away down the corridor. It didn't matter if she had anything else to say or if I wanted to hear her because our session was over. I would help her to the best of my ability and if heads had to roll then so be it. No one should be that deprived. Letting her outside would hurt no one and yet someone had denied her that for no other reason than because they could. It seemed that I had an unscheduled meeting with Jeremiah Arkham. Heaven help him if he didn't listen.

**&x&**

** I was in my cell before I noticed I was there. If anyone had cared to look they would have noted how unlike myself I was. Everything went wrong around the time she turned that first picture around. I still couldn't believe that she had shown me flowers. She'd even given them to me! It was almost like she knew. Her promise still echoed in my head reassuring me that she would do everything she could to help. She spoke as if she cared. **

** She didn't care but for a moment I let myself believe that she would keep her word. I had learned long ago that trust is better left for the weak and hope for the soon-to-be deceased. If I believed every oath thrown at me I would have been dead sooner than I cared to think about. Still she had seemed so true when she said it. Muscles contracted and I realized that I was still holding the pictures...my pictures but really her gifts. I hadn't realized how much Arkham took out of me until I saw them. **

** They couldn't compare to the real thing and my longing bent me in two. For the first time I found myself glad that I had been moved to maximum security. Being this far from anyone was a blessing because if anyone overheard what I was about to do I'd have to kill them slowly. I lay down facing the wall and took deep breaths to delay the inevitable. I was losing the fight and it might have been premonition but I felt that I would lose the second.**

** My breathing began to hitch and I cursed myself for getting captured and brought back to this pit. The old familiar sting signaled what I already knew was happening. Against my will the tears began to flow and a sizzling reached my ears. Quickly wiping my face I raised up to find holes in the mattress where each tear had dropped. There were still some remnants left on my palm and I smeared them on the steel of the bedframe. Nothing happened and I collapsed under the weight of futility that engulfed me. With no tears left to shed I fell asleep, cradling the pictures I was dreaming of.**

** I awoke to the hum of phosphorescents and did little more than moan. I was awake when the knock sounded on my door signaling lunch. I had let them grab me on the way to the meeting with Quinzel but I was in no mood to be lead. They knew better and so I walked freely to the cafeteria. It's a wonder no one dies from the slop they serve and call food here. I grab my salad and sit at the table farthest from the rest. I didn't notice him until he decided to speak.**

**"Hey Ivy."**

**"Hey yourself Riddler."**

**"I've got a riddle for you. Who's small, cute, and mad as hell?"**

**A quirked brow served as my reply.**

**"Well if I really need to spell it out for you..."**

**"If you value your life you'll revise that."**

**Still at ease he said, "Your doctor."**

**"Explain."**

**"Well rumor has it she went to Arkham and gave him more than a piece of her mind. Want to know the best part?"**

**I was too shocked to reply but he was pratically bursting with mirth at knowing something I didn't. He took my silence as a sign to continue.**

**"You could hear them five cells away and they got the whole thing on tape!"**

_**Had she done all of that for me?**_

** A bell ran signaling that lunch was over and he stood up to leave. Orderlies were piling in to escort people out and I had to know. He had already turned away and I called to him knowing it might cost me. **

**"What?"**

**"Can you get me that tape?"**

**He smiled but I didn't have time for negotiations.**

**"I don't have time for this Nigma. Can you get me the tape or not?"**

**He was suspicious but he never could resist having the upper hand.**

**"I can but you'll owe me one favor."**

**"If it involves Trivial Pursuit then never mind."**

**"I've always loved your charm Ivy. Don't worry you'll have the tape after dinner."**

** After hashing out some final details we parted and only when I was back in my cell did I contemplate what had just transpired. I owed the Riddler a favor. I didn't plan on keeping it but knowing him I probably wouldn't have a choice. I could think about my deal with the devil after I got the tape and it had better be worth it.**

**-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-**

**It was after dinner and I had just gotten back. Everything looked the same except for the small bump underneath my bed sheets. I reached under them and grabbed the portable DVD player. As agreed, Nigma would disable the cameras for twenty minutes which was more than enough time for what I needed to see. Gripping a little tighter I pressed play. On the screen was a fast-approaching and obviously irritated Quinzel. She moved into the camera's blind spot but the scene soon cut to the inside of an office where Jeremiah Arkham was seated. Suddenly she was there. He looked up suprised, and offered her a seat which she declined. Instead she said,**

**"We need to talk."**


	9. Chapter 9

_**Author's Note: **__There are two reasons why this chapter is as late as it is. The first is school which was being a complete monster. The second was a healthy case of writer's block. During this past week that block was finally broken and I was able to write what you're about to read. I hope you enjoy and remember that feedback of any kind is always appreciated (specifically if I'm portraying the characters as they should be)._

Chapter 9

The resounding clack of my heels reflected my displeasure. Denying Ivy sunlight was like denying a starving child food or a dying man morphine. I shuddered at the thought. She wasn't dying but she was getting too close for comfort and a weakened Ivy would soon be a dead one. I had made a promise to help and I'm a woman of my word to the core. I could feel righteous anger flooding through me, giving me strength I didn't know I had but about halfway to his office I paused. Barging in angry and unannounced is never the best way to get what you want.

It wouldn't help either of us if I just stormed in and started making demands. I had to have a plan. Handling this wrong would be a sure ticket to unemployment and further deprivation and I couldn't risk that. No, the situation called for intelligence and finesse. Still, why he wouldn't let her outside? Her file had said nothing about any violent incidents outside of her escapes so why was he keeping her trapped? My anger was beginning to ebb and confusion eagerly stepped in to take its place.

To the best of my knowledge none of the other rogues had their privileges restricted unless some violence on their part had been committed. So again the question of why Ivy? If I went in now I would almost surely lose and I couldn't afford that. Ivy couldn't afford that. Turning on my heel I began the walk back to my office. Considering the number of times I reviewed her file checking again probably wouldn't help much … but it was still worth a shot. Dismissing things now could prove to be a costly mistake.

I'm jerked out of my thoughts by the screaming coming from down the hall. I don't think I'll ever get used to the way the insane yell. There's an abandonment there that can only come from losing your mind but if you listen closer you can hear something colder lurking just beneath the surface. It's chilling and with a distinct feeling of déjà vu I'm hurrying to my office trying to escape the noises. I don't blame the patients for their madness, that's why I'm here. I only wish that the asylum didn't seem so hungry for their anguish like some malevolent god who draws strength not from blood but from terror.

I'm walking to my chair almost before I register that I'm even in my office. The clack of my heels has been replaced with the soft thud inherent when stepping on carpet. The file cabinet is in the corner but what I want sits on my desk ready for perusal. Repeating an action that was more muscle memory than conscious thought I began to scan her information, turning pages as I went. It was as I thought. In her earlier stays Ivy had never been confined to her cell. What had changed?

I began to think back to when Ivy had first been brought in. That would have been four months ago. From what she told me, that would mean that whatever had happened had to have been during her first month back. I looked farther up the page and stopped.

I had already gone home the night she was brought back in but I had heard about it the next day. Batman brought her with less fuss than usual and after an exam she was sent to her usual cell. Later she'd been moved to where she was now. Joan had told me all of this but when I asked her why she'd been moved she told me that she didn't know. All she had said was that it was Arkham's orders. It was coming back to him. He had ordered her move and he was the one keeping her inside but for what unless he just wanted to see her suffer. I stopped that train of thought cold.

Arkham may have proven himself to be a lot of things but cruel wasn't one of them. He's proven himself to be arrogant yes, condescending yes, but cruel never. I fell into my old habit of thinking out loud as I do when I'm agitated. What was Arkham's motive and what did he gain by keeping her inside? Did she pose a threat to him and if so how? Was there something I was missing? There were too many unanswered questions and I was getting farther and farther from getting Ivy outside. There had to be some angle or clue that would make all of this make sense.

He was the one who had her moved and he was the one who kept her there, but I already knew all of that. At this point I was just rehashing facts and I was still no closer to an answer. There was a connection between Ivy and Arkham and once I figured it out I would have exactly what I needed to get her where she belonged. My doubt was fading to be replaced by an ever-strengthening certainty that Ivy had done something to Arkham and that whatever it was he hadn't liked it.

What I needed to discover couldn't be this hard to find. I had heard the well-worn stories passed around the coffee pot of those who had overestimated both their importance and his patience. Though the middle varied the ending was always the same; an office either empty or on its way there. Somewhere and somehow Ivy had done something to get on Arkham's bad side so what was it? Those that pull the tiger's tail usually find themselves dinner though thankfully at this point Ivy was still being masticated.

I'm thinking of Arkham like he's the boogeyman. Instead of spending all this time pondering I should just go and ask him myself. Not at first but after a little bit I'll broach the subject. Being direct is better than sitting here befuddled. Marking my place in the case file I leave my office heading straight for Arkham's. The hallway is quieter than it was when I was traveling in the opposite direction. I can only hope that whoever it was is finally experiencing some peace.

I'll ask him why he's keeping her inside. I'll ask him what purpose he thinks it will serve and he'll tell me. He'll tell me and everything will be put to rights. I repeat this like a mantra and tell myself that I'm only running the plan over so I go in there with some direction not to steady my nerves or my breathing. Denial isn't healthy but it helps. I can see his door now and the mantra stops. If I mess this up nerves will be the least of my problems. I straighten up and with a deep breath knock and open the door.

He looked up and smiled and all courtesy died on my tongue. Whatever polite greeting I was going to give decays because something in that smile isn't right. He has a gleam to his eyes that strikes as nothing short of patronizing and the feeling isn't helped when he tells me to close the door behind myself as if I didn't know. Maybe I'm overreacting but then again his behavior toward me that last few days hasn't been what I would call "cordial". I learned a long time ago to never doubt your feelings. He looks at me expectantly and with civility I don't feel say, "We need to talk".

_A wolf. He looks like a wolf._

He doesn't look at all surprised and instead smiles and invites me to sit.

"I had a feeling you'd be dropping by Harleen."

"I've come to talk about Poison Ivy."

"What about her?"

_Watch your temper._

"I came to ask why her outdoors privileges have been revoked seemingly without cause."

"Believe me Harleen there is ample cause. You are no doubt aware that Poison Ivy exerts power over all things flora yes?"

_He'll turn to dust before he gets an answer to that._

Unperturbed by my silence he continues, "If she is let outside there is no doubt that she will use her powers to escape. I keep her in for the sake of the city."

"Dr. Arkham surely you are aware that for all of her escapes only three have involved plants. More often than not she exploits the guards foolish enough to come within kissing distance. I understand that she is dangerous and I only ask that she be allowed to go outside not start a garden."

"Even that is too much Quinzel. You mentioned her lack of plant assisted escapes but what you fail to recall is the destruction each of those assists caused. Her last escape completely ruined the lower east wing of the asylum. It's too risky to allow her to be near any form of vegetation."

"I understand your concern sir but the only way she would have been able to escape with a plant would be if someone provided it for her."

"Are you implying that one of the staff did so, because if you are and have had any knowledge of such an act then I can assure you Quinzel that the results will not be favorable."

"No I am not and no I had no knowledge. I'm merely alerting you to the fact that the means for her escape could not have been gained from the grounds of this facility. And I don't appreciate your accusations."

For a moment all he did was quirk a brow and stare at me; incredulity coating his gaze. Slowly, though his brow lowered and what was first disbelief slowly morphed into barely restrained outrage. How could I think he was a wolf? I had forgotten what happens when you pull the tiger's tail and looking at him now there was no mistaking what Jeremiah Arkham was. A tight smile now sat upon his features and I knew that he was preparing to pounce.

"Dr. Quinzel I'm sorry you feel that I have accused you of something but let me reassure you that I have Ivy's best interest at heart. I'm glad that you care about your patient but you're failing to comprehend the benefit to the greater good. You're humanizing a monster."

_A monster?_

I'd seen the effects of her confinement; the hurt in her eyes. I'd seen the tears she wouldn't allow to fall and the pain it caused her. Ivy couldn't be a monster. She couldn't have looked at me that way if she was. She couldn't be a monster because monsters don't feel.

"I'm doing nothing of the kind Jeremiah. I know perfectly well what she's capable of."

The fire in his eyes, already enough to set me on edge, grew and with a sinking horror I realized that the tiger had pounced and was ready to finish off what it had started.

"Yes Harleen, but do you know what she's done? Think of the lives she's taken Harleen. The countless faces buried in green; rotting along with their murderer. Think of the people she's maimed and poisoned. Her hands are covered in the blood of this city and she rejoices in it. She cares nothing about people and has never tried to hide it. Ivy is more plant than person now and she's a menace Harleen. And I will be damned before I let her tear this Asylum or Gotham to the ground!"

Anger, hot and steady, began to build and it was all I could do to keep it under control. How dare he say such things? He was dehumanizing her! It was true that she did kill but she killed with purpose. It's no excuse but it's a reason that she believes with all of her being. She isn't Zsasz killing for pleasure and she isn't Scarecrow maiming for "science". She does what she believes is right and that's better than all the other's reasoning. It was flawed but with time she could see why. She needed another chance and he was denying her it. With a steadiness that surprised me I spoke.

"It is not our position to judge Dr. Arkham. If Ivy is indeed more plant than human then I don't need to tell you what happens when a plant is denied sunlight. She's fading Arkham. I ask that she be let outside not as a reward for her actions but because not doing so could only result in further deterioration."

"Her last exam showed that she was in the peak of health Dr. Quinzel."

"You know as well as I do that the exams don't cover everything. You only have to look at her to see the change or are you blind?"

"Dr. Quinzel you will watch your tone."

It wasn't until he spoke that I realized how loudly I had been speaking; how loud we both were. His usually blue-grey eyes were more steel than sky and I realized that I had crossed a line that offered no chance of redemption. What was done was done and there was nothing to be salvaged.

"Dr. Arkham I only meant that…"

_She's dying._

"It seems to me Harleen that you seem to have developed a rather keen interest in the welfare of your patient. While it is this asylum's policy to show compassion you seem to be going above and beyond the call of duty. Do I need to monitor your sessions? Or would it be more prudent to leave Poison Ivy to another doctor?"

I wanted to say that he wouldn't dare but that would have been foolish and catastrophic. I had lost because I let my temper get the best of me. I was Ivy's only hope and I had let her down. The silence weighed on me like the punishment of Atlas only I wasn't strong enough to bear it. Hope was gone and when I answered my words were weak and he knew it.

"No Dr. Arkham that will not be necessary."

"Good. You're still new and sometimes I forget that. Let this be a lesson to you Harleen. I have only our patient's best interests at heart. You'll find that I really do know what's best for them. I hope you have a pleasant day Dr. Quinzel."

I knew a dismissal when I heard one. I left without another word and when I got back to my office it was all I could to hold back my tears until I got to the relative comfort of my desk. There had to be a way to get her outside but for right now hope was slim and our chances for success even less.

**&x&**

**I sat speechless at what I had just seen. She did care. I had seen it for myself and didn't dare to doubt it anymore. I had a friend in Harleen Quinzel and the thought of actually having someone in my corner was enough to bring that worrying sting back to my eyes. She would keep her promise of that I was sure and in the dark of my cell I made one to her. Arkham was as good as dead. He was going to die. I would make sure of it.**


	10. Chapter 10

_**Author's note: **__So for a period of time I had temporarily given up on this fic knowing that eventually I would come back. Here I am and hopefully I won't be gone for even half as long as I was the first time. Apologies to any who might have wondered what happened. Laziness and writer's block mainly._

Chapter 10

Anger began to build in me; gaining in intensity and scope. So many things were going wrong and the most glaring mistake belonged solely to me. I'd gone in there guns blazing fully assured in the knowledge that I was right. Fire and hope snuffed out like a candle, and I had failed her! I threw away a chance to do her good and for what, because Arkham had treated me like a child? It was pathetic how I let my anger get the best of me and for a long moment all I could see was Ivy's barely concealed despair.

_How could you have been so damn stupid?_

I needed a new strategy and after some deliberation I had one. I had effectively bitten the proverbial hand so appealing to Arkham was out of the question. Joan however, was a different story. As I made my way to her office I felt momentarily guilty for what I was about to do but a moment of guilt was nothing compared to what would be a lifetime of regret if I didn't get Ivy some reprieve. A wall clock told me that it was approaching eleven and I knew I had to hurry if I wanted to catch Joan before she began her rounds.

When I reached her door a quick knock granted me entrance and after a short wait I had her undivided attention. Her excitement was almost palpable.

"Harley! I was wondering when you would stop by. How did your first session go?"

"I think I made a little headway and I have a plan that will help me make more."

"Wow I am truly impressed. Progress on the first day with a patient like Poison Ivy is a huge accomplishment."

Her praise warmed me but it didn't distract me from what I had come to do.

"Joan you told me earlier today that I had your support. In order for my plan to work that's what I'm going to need."

The smile that had graced Joan's face slowly slipped away and a certain wariness took its place. For a moment she gave me an appraising almost discerning look before she responded.

"What is your plan, what is your motivation, and why do you need me?"

"Joan I believe that extended stay indoors has adversely affected Poison Ivy's health. Her physical constitution warrants plenty of sunlight but her current location actively denies it. As head of minimum security you have pull with the other higher-ups. I want to negotiate a transfer for Ivy from high security to you. I need you to talk with Dr. Sinner."

Silence greeted me and my heart began to sink. Joan breathed a heavy sigh while she processed my request. Finally she looked up but instead of addressing me she looked to the clock.

"Harleen I don't fully understand your reasoning and it's time for me to begin my rounds."

"Joan what I'm asking for isn't something difficult. For three months Ivy has been locked away."

"Harleen she's a threat."

Remembering to keep my tone level I reply, "To whom? I'm only asking that she be given access to the privileges other minimum security patients receive. She more than qualifies. Her records indicate that she hasn't been trouble for four months. That alone should warrant a shift."

"It would for anyone else."

I could feel desperation beginning to creep in but to let it out would be as good as throwing it all away. My agitation must have shown because Joan seemed to soften.

"Joan please, she's fading. If she's switched back to you she'll get more patient to patient interaction, recreational time and most importantly she'll get to go outside. I predict that when given these things improvement will be seen."

Joan's gaze sharpened and I did my best to radiate both self control and calm certainty. We locked eyes and an understanding passed between us.

Gathering the remainder of her things Joan replied, "I'll see what I can do."

_God bless you Joan._

As we parted Joan told me to drop by at the end of the day and I promised her I would. Heading back to my office I allowed hope to spread through me. The end of the day couldn't come fast enough.

**.X.**

_The door closes slowly as she leaves. _

I watch her as she goes, noting her figure and the way she carries herself. Such a beautiful woman with such a terrible do-gooder streak. She would either learn how things worked around here or she would be dismissed. If she chose the latter I would make sure that she would not like it. She has no idea how hard I've worked to get here and she had better learn her place. As if advocating for that plant weren't enough she even had the nerve to challenege my authority.

Well, it wouldn't due to get too bent out of shape with her. Harleen is new and given time she could prove to be a real asset to my asylum. My thoughts begin to drift to other things but before my musings can get too deep my watch sounds. Quickly exiting my office I tell my secretary Sheila that I'm off to my twelve o' clock. She merely nods and continues chewing her gum while no doubt playing solitaire. I make a mental note to fire her sometime in the near future.

For this meeting I cannot be late. If things go according to plan, as they will, the future of the asylum will look very bright indeed. The sun shines and I smile. Good weather is always a boon for negotiations. No one spares me a second glance as I drive away and it wouldn't make a difference if they did. I make my way down the streets of Gotham cataloging those that I see into varying types of mental illness. Most of these people deserve a permanent spot in the asylum. _Filth._

I arrive at the parking garage and make my way to the staircase. Knowing the cameras are disabled makes my journey that much easier and I'm pratically bouncing by the time I reach the top. A man in casual clothes blocks the door but when he sees my face he steps aside.

"Good afternoon Doc."

"That's doctor."

The goon gives me a cool look but opens the door like I knew he would. He can stare all he wants but we both know he won't touch me. The open air greets me again but I only have eyes for the men assembled in the center.

"Glad to see you haven't started without me gentlemen."

"We wouldn't dream of it Dr. Arkham."

"Come now James. Call me Jerry."

They all smile and the negotiations proceed. Things go smoothly and when I leave the roof I have a promise.

I have plans for Arkham and the results will be _beautiful._


End file.
